Land of the south!-imperial land! But should it come, there's one will die MY PRAYER FOR THEE, DEAREST. BY OLIVER WENDELL WITHINGTON. My prayer for thee, dearest, is not that thy way It vere vain. We may slumber in hope's chain secure, And yet, when I bend to that Being on high, Thy name ever breathed in the stillness of prayer: That thy soul may be turned from the vain things of earth, Thy young heart be changed by a holier birth, sip, May his peace be around thee, his name on thy lip. THE FIRST LOVE. BY FREDERICK WEST. THE first love! The first love! The bosom knows, But nothing like the first love. The heart may smile In bliss awhile Where eyes are brightly beaming; Its course has run, We love the stars' soft gleaming: The bosom knows, But nothing like the first love. Yes, mem'ry still Our hearts will fill With the sweet hope that's perishedAnd lesser light Will sink in night By that first fondly cherished As even in death The rose's breath Outlives its sad decay; So memory still Our hearts will fill With incense passed away. The bosom knows, But nothing like the first love. THE YANKEE GIRLS. BY MICAH HAWKINS. HISTORIANS, poets, painters, all, The glowing charms of ancient fair, But I am one of those blind-sided churls Who think none so pretty as the Yankee girls. Their unassuming mien imparts The spotless essence of their hearts; The Yankee girls! oh what a charm! "Twas that which nerved Columbia's arm! Which arm in spite of tyranny Declared this soil forever free; Then while our standard round us furls, The watchword be, the Yankee girls! SHADOWS. BY H. HASTINGS WELD. "What shadows we are, and what shadows we pursue.' SKIRTING with gold Heaven's tranquil blue, Hope breaks the sun of manhood's morn. Melting to nothing in its eye, So fade in young hope's glowing ray, The stars that gemmed the infant's sky. The sun has risen above the wave It looks down on the mountain's brow- The phantoms with which morn began In hope's bright dawning-where are they; Noon breaks the word of promise made to morn: Hope of its gaudy dawn-dreams all, is shorn. |